S. Jin Lee
Over the past summer, I enjoyed my first taste of dormitory emancipation by staying at a sublet during the spring term. Not used to cooking for myself in the dorms, I took up a job as a host-slash-cashier at a local Japanese restaurant. This way, I would have a moderate income to support my “let’s-just-get-takeout-for-every-meal” lifestyle. My job entails greeting and seating dine-in customers and taking to-go orders over the phone, among other tasks. It’s a pretty good job: the pay is decent, the coworkers are friendly, and most importantly, the employee meals are free.
As a first-time restaurant host, I’ve made some observations about our specific Japanese eatery, the food industry in general, and the people they both serve (primarily because during off-peak hours, that’s all I can do). One of the first things I noticed after taking profuse amounts of to-go orders over the phone was that not many customers knew the difference between sushi and sashimi. I initially was taken aback by this; I had thought Japanese food was pervasive enough in American culture for the average US citizen to have some basic understanding of the cuisine. After overcoming my initial (and slightly snobby) judgment, I quickly thought to myself that a simple explanation for the customer will make everything clear.
Boy, was I naïve.
To clarify, “sushi” (more specifically nigiri) is sliced, raw fish atop rice, while “sashimi” is the same style of fish without rice. For people who infrequently eat Japanese food, I would be more than willing to help a customer out with differentiating between the two. Similar to when I dine at Italian restaurants and order pasta, I never remember the difference between penne, rotini, and linguine. In my desperation, I graciously accept help from my server. However, I’m less inclined to help someone who, after learning about the two, is dead-set on ordering five orders of “tuna sashimi with rice.” I could always just punch in what I assume the customer wants, but then I run the risk of getting the order completely wrong and in turn, paying out of my pocket for it. Having experienced this before and receiving an earful from the sushi chefs (turns out that the customer misspoke and actually just wanted tuna sashimi, how about that) I really don’t want to do it again. I still have nightmares of middle-aged, five-foot-five men berating me about raw fish. Therefore, in cases like this, I have to keep pressing the customer for more details, resulting in phone calls that are ten minutes longer than they should be.
Time, in this case, is money.
It’s even worse when this confusion happens on a larger scale. There’s an item on our menu called the Takara Bune, which literally translates to “treasure boat” in English. It’s a hefty platter of sashimi (with an equally hefty price of 180 dollars) that is meant to feed eight “sashimi lovers only,” as amusingly described by our menu. When customers order this, they should know what they’re getting into, as the Bune requires a huge investment on their part. Now, this hasn’t happened to me personally, but I heard a story about a previous server who neglected to ensure that his customers knew what they were ordering. When the customers received the Bune, they noted that they did not receive sushi rice with the raw fish and demanded that the chefs correct the mistake. It’s a reasonable complaint and the fault is on the server, who should have taken the extra time to clarify and verify the customers’ wants. Fortunately, the sushi chefs (begrudgingly) took back the Bune and put sushi rice with the sashimi. The customers were satisfied and the server did not have to take the personal financial hit.
Despite the server’s luck, I still shed a tear for him. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that the chefs blasted him in front of all the employees for his “incompetency.” Like I hinted earlier, when someone messes up an order that big and costly, hell hath no fury like a sushi chef scorned.
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